Death Doesn't Discriminate
by FlickerInTheDark
Summary: One-shot first person from Philip Hamilton. The story of Philip Hamilton's death.
**A/N: I used some lyrics from Lin-Manuel Miranda's genius mind but I wanted to write my own scene. Note there will be historical and medical inaccuracies. I have moved various lyrics to suit the narrative. Enjoy this sad fan fiction.**

I wake up in a darkish room. I'm on a table and I am confused. Where was everyone? I don't know how I got here. One minute I was in Weehawken, New Jersey, in a duel and now I'm here. I think I lost. I think I will be dead soon. I don't know where I am and I am very scared.

"Pops?" I call out. I can barely see the pain is too much, "Mom?"

"Shh. Mr. Hamilton," someone says. Whoever this person is he is pulling my blanket away and looking at something. I see the bandage around my body and see it is soaked with blood.

It's not my father or mother so I just ignore this voice. I am trying to remember.

 _My name is Philip Hamilton I am 19. I am studying to be a lawyer. My father is Alexander Hamilton and my mother taught me piano. I have an aunt Angelica who lives in London and I have…_ I suddenly could not name any of my siblings, if I had any, and could no longer really picture my school or home.

 _I live in New York.. I uh like._

My thoughts were a mess. I resigned myself to dying alone.

 _Dear God please spare my parents from the pain I have caused. Let them know I love them…_

Suddenly I heard a voice. It sounded like my father.

"Pops?" I called out as loud as I could.

Distantly I heard, "Can I see him please?"

A minute or maybe a year later my father rushed in.

"Pops?" I gasped. I didn't open my eyes. What if he wasn't there? I don't think I could live with the disappointment if my father wasn't actually here.

"Son!" the voice of my father said, "Shh it is all right. I'm here. Rest." He held me like when I was a boy and I was scared or sick. Was I sick? I suppose so. After about 7 he stopped holding me. He didn't stop loving me but I guess that is the way of fathers and sons.

I instantly forgave him of what his scandal. I instantly just wanted us to be like before pamphlet ruined our lives.

"I did exactly as you said pops. I was aiming for the sky," I moaned. My vision was hazy. I could no longer see every whisker of my father's unshaven face. I could see his eyes were wet and I felt terribly. I never waned to cause any of this, any suffering for them. I always just wanted to be the perfect son and withhold the family name.

"Shh. I know, you did everything just right," he said with a sad smile. His hands were on my head and he was brushing my curly hair out of my face.

"Even before we got to ten, I was aiming for the sky! I was aiming for the sky," I said. To me at that moment was the single most important thing I had to say. I wanted my father to know be proud. I always tried so hard to make him proud. I supposed he was all the time.

Suddenly a rush came and someone was clutching my hand. It was soft.

"I'm so cold," I whisper.

"Baby, sweetheart!" she said. My mother was there. I opened my eyes, my mother was always the one who encouraged me and she is who missed me when I was away at school.

She pulled a blanket around me like she did when I was a small child.

"I'm not a baby," I say. I was joking, right now I wanted nothing more to be five years old and playing piano. I wanted nothing more to be back home and everything was safe. I wanted my family back, before this Reynolds pamphlet and before I was shot.

"Always! You will always be my baby," my mother said.

"I won't be your son any more," I say.

"Never say that. You will be my son forever an always. Even if you are 101 you will be my son, Philip," she said. It was a joke. I was dying now; I would never see the day I would turn 101 let alone 20. But her words made me feel like I could do anything.

"I'm so sorry for forgetting what you taught me," I smile slightly. I suppose it was mostly a grimace.

"My son," she said rubbing my hand. He hands were warm and it felt nice.

I gripped my mother's hand and said, "We played piano."

"I taught you piano," she said.

My father who had been silently weeping cleared his throat, "Son I love you so much! I never told you, and I regret all the time of not telling you so. Now you should rest."

It was true. My father never once told me he loved me. He was always affectionate but he never vocalized it. I didn't say anything more. There was no more to say. I saw my father above me holding my head up. I realized at some point I could no longer hold my head up. It saddened me; it was all happening so quickly. An hour ago, I think, I was standing on a hill and now couldn't find the strength to keep my head up.

"Blood," I whisper.

"Shh it's fine, darling," my mother whispered.

"I don't want to die," I gasp. I had been fine with dying, I even came to terms with it, but now when death was almost certain, I panicked. I couldn't leave now. I needed to recover so that my parent's tears would stop

I was crying but no tears came. My mother still blotted at my eyes.

I fell asleep. I was sure I wouldn't wake up. I saw the late morning light come through the window and knew I wouldn't see it again.

I woke up a bit later, not because I was feeling better but because I heard my father cursing.

"DAMN that George Ecker! If he was here I swear he would be in that bed and not Philip!" my father shouted.

"You will wake our son up. Keep your voice down!" my mother hissed, "If he has any chance, ANY chance to survive he needs rest."

"Eliza, that is our son dying. Would you not to like see Ecker dying instead?" my father said quieter.

"I do not want to see anyone dying!" she whispered back, "Imagine if he heard you say he was dying."

I never liked it when my parents fought, my parents were rarely this angry. My poor mother had been through so much with my father. They had been so distant these few weeks.

My father was right. It didn't hurt my feelings. I was dying, how could I not be.

"Ma, please," I whispered.

When the words came out the room got silent and my parents rushed over. My father's face was still red but he eyes showed none of the anger. My mother knelt down, her eyes were red and she tried to smile.

"I am sorry if we woke you. Everything is fine," she said.

"I love you both so much! Tell everyone how much I love them. Especially tell Angelica, let her know she was the best sister," I said urgently.

"Save your strength and say alive," he said, "You will have plenty of time to tell them that when you're home."

The thought of home calmed me. I knew I would never see home again but just thinking about it I could almost believe I would see it again.

"We love you much. You are our pride and joy. We are so proud of you, "my mother said. I wasn't sure if what she said was true but I believed it.

"I will see you again someday. It is only a matter of time, "I said reaching up to my mother's face. She held it there until I hadn't the strength to keep it there

With the knowledge I had made my parents proud, I closed my eyes. I wasn't dead yet, just existing. I listened to my mother sob and my father comfort her. Together they wept all the while still holding me. Two very good people should never had a son who would die. They were both too good to have this hell.


End file.
